Estate Planning for Your Pets: What To Do Now (Before It's Too Late!)

Credit: Pexels, Zen Chung

The stakes are high. If you die without a will or trust for your pets, they could end up meeting you at the Rainbow Bridge sooner than they should.

Not many people like to talk about death. But if you died today, who would take care of your pets? Do you have a plan?

Experts say having an estate plan for your pets — a will for your dog or a pet trust — isn’t morbid or only for the wealthy; it’s smart — and could even save their life.

Read the rest of Watchdog Mary’s article in Dogster Magazine.

Danger Alert: How cold is too cold for a dog to be left outside?

"Dogs can die because of the cold, people should take this seriously..." 

Photo by stock_colors/iStock / Getty Images

(Original article posted in 2018)

The moment the mercury starts to plummet, reports about dogs left out in the cold start pouring in; sometimes, the stories are horrifying.

In Salem, Massachusetts, someone left this dog tied to a bench outside the Northeast Animal Shelter in seven-degree weather.

Dog abandoned in cold. Credit: Northeast Animal Shelter, Salem, MA

In Detroit, Michigan, a man abandoned a Pomeranian mix outside Detroit Dog Rescue in the snow.

The dog did not survive. The rescue is looking for clues based on this surveillance photo. 

Credit: Detroit Dog Rescue

Watchdog Mary has been inundated with messages from people asking for advice on how to help dogs they've seen left outside, even chained to doghouses, in freezing temperatures.  

Some have called police and animal control only to end up outraged when officers decide a dog is not in danger, yet the animal remains to shiver in an icy yard.  

How cold is too cold for a dog to be left outside? When is it dangerous? When is it cruel? 

If it feels cold to you, it probably feels cold to your pooch. Don't leave them out.

Cold weather evaluation chart

The Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine at Tufts University in Massachusetts created this Animal Condition and Care chart.

Veterinarians devised scientific calculations to help evaluate when it’s too risky to leave a dog outside.

Credit: Tufts University Animal Care and Condition

Veterinarian Lori Teller, an American Veterinary Medical Association (AVMA) Board of Directors member, told Watchdog Mary, "Dogs can die because of the cold. People should take this seriously." 

Dr. Teller explained there is a simple rule of thumb to evaluate these cases:

"If it’s uncomfortable for you to be outside, then your dog may not be that tolerant," she said. "If you have to bundle up, your dog may be cold too. If your dog looks miserable or is shivering, it’s too cold." 

A dog's age, breed, and the climate they are accustomed to also to play a role.

“What a Chihuahua in Florida can tolerate is different than a Malamute in Minnesota," Dr. Teller said. 

Photo by apixel/iStock / Getty Images

 

Tips on evaluating canines in cold weather

  • Coat Type: A dog with a thin coat, like a Boxer or a Bull Dog, doesn’t tolerate cold as well as arctic breeds like a Malamute or Samoyed.

  • Age: If a dog is older, they may have a difficult time in chilly weather.

  • Signs of distress: If a dog looks miserable, is shaking, becomes sluggish, and is not responsive, that is dangerous. Call the police.

Photo by Nataba/iStock / Getty Images

Should dogs be "outside" dogs?

Should dogs be kept outside or in dog houses? Many animal experts and rescue groups have the same answer, "The 1950s called, they want their dog care advice back..."

The consensus is no; dogs should not live outside.

"Even if it’s a sled dog, they need to be kept warm at night,” Dr. Teller said. “They can tolerate the cold for a longer period than other dogs, but they can’t tolerate it for any prolonged amount of time without having a chance to warm up."

And if you think, "Oh, my dog has a dog house..."

Dog houses provide shelter from wind, not temperature.

"If it’s really cold or a prolonged freeze, a dog house won’t be of tremendous help. Ideally, those animals would be brought inside,” Dr. Teller said.

Would you like to be outside 24/7 in the cold, rain, snow, or heat? Neither does a dog.

Then there’s the risk of a dog being stolen or encountering a wild animal, a snake, or an allergic reaction to a bee sting— it’s all dangerous.

Dogs are social creatures. They like having a family.

"I think most dogs like being inside dogs,” Dr. Teller said. “It’s not exciting to be a lonely dog in the yard by yourself. It’s not in the dog’s best interest to spend his life chained in a yard without social interaction, and it’s a risk to her physical health to be in temperature extremes." 

If you see a dog in questionable or dangerous conditions:

  • Call your local police and animal control.

  • Document the days, times, and conditions you observe.

  • Take pictures and videos.

  • The Humane Society of the United States has additional advice.

Photo by Creative-Family/iStock / Getty Images

Tips for dog owners dealing with cold weather

  • Put a sweater, coat, and boots on your dog.

  • Do shorter walks and indoor activities for exercise.

  • If your dog's activity level decreases due to the cold, they may need less food than usual. Make sure your pet doesn't put on winter weight.

  • Be careful of liquids on the road; it could be antifreeze, which is toxic.

  • Wipe road salt and anti-icing chemicals off your dog's paws.

 

 

Ode to Daisy: the Yellow Rescue Lab Who Stole Our Hearts

Photo credit: Megan Saucier

I had no idea it would be our last car ride together. What was about to happen hit me like a bus I never saw coming.

It was like the line in the song Everyone's Free to Wear Sunscreen:

"The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 PM on some idle Tuesday..."

It all started a couple of days earlier. Daisy, our beloved and treasured yellow Lab, had neck pain. Our veterinarian wasn't too worried and thought it was likely a flare-up of some bad discs in her neck. He recommended strict rest and anti-inflammatory medication.

But she didn't get better; instead, she got worse. She was having trouble walking. It looked like every step she took hurt. She stopped and shook in pain. My partner and I felt sick with worry.

That idle Tuesday, I loaded her in the car and raced her to see a neurologist at a specialty hospital. She recommended an MRI and said, "Well, it could be a ruptured disc or arthritis... or I mean, it could even be a tumor... but I doubt it."

For the price of a small, used Honda, we proceeded with the MRI. The doctor said she'd call me in a few hours. When my phone later rang that afternoon, the neurologist's nurse told me to pick up Daisy but would only reveal the scan results when I arrived.

"If they're telling me to come get her, it must not be too serious," I thought. "It must be fixable, and I can take her home. Thank goodness!"

I felt a sense of relief. Our precious yellow 80-pound Labrador, who made us laugh each day, would be OK. We weren't sure how we'd ever live without her. Our home would be void of the pure and utter joy and mischief that inhabited her soul. You could see it in her eyes. There was no mistaking it.

Daisy was nearly 12. I adopted her from All Sato Rescue when she was a year old. 

She ended up in the rescue after a crummy backyard breeder dumped her at an animal shelter in Puerto Rico. A shelter worker told the breeder their facility was full, and they'd have to euthanize her. He didn't seem phased and paid the $60 fee.

Shortly after he left, volunteers from the All Sato team walked in and saw her—a beautiful, young, yellow Labrador tied up to the front desk. They were coming to pick up smaller street dogs, not a giant Daisy-sized pooch. They didn't have room in their van for her or even large enough crates back at their facility. 

But they could not leave her there to be killed. They decided to leap and hope the net appeared. The net did appear; they worked it out. I will be forever grateful for the risk they took. 

I was one of 20 applicants who applied to adopt Daisy and was lucky enough to get her. 

I'm so thankful for the rescue's hard work. The dog that jerk discarded became the light of our lives. She has been the greatest gift we could have ever received.

Of course, the final decision to adopt Daisy also rested on Solly, my grumpy, rescued black Lab. According to his DNA test, he was a Sheepdog trapped in a Labrador's body. It explained a lot. But he needed to like her. He was picky when it came to his dog pals.

The rescue flew Daisy up to a shelter in New Hampshire. When Solly and I drove up to meet her, he was somewhat indifferent about her. But Daisy instantly adored him. I figured indifferent would do. I loaded them all into my Jeep, and off we went.

Daisy turned out to be a ray of sunshine that brought out a loving, playful side in Solly. She loved him so much that when Solly learned how to open the door to our condo and escape, she followed him into the common area hallway.

Daisy, unsupervised, managed to create so much chaos we got letters from the condo association attorney and had quite a headache. The trouble those two got into could fill an entire book that might be titled "How Our Dogs Got Us Evicted."

She clearly had the eating disorder PICA—where one compulsively eats non-edible items.

Over the years, while home alone, she broke out of repeated crates and ate oven mitts, a bra, a wine glass, leashes, collars, the tips of gloves, a cheeseboard, pepper spray, and oven knobs off the stove. When we bought childproof knob covers, she ate those! We finally removed the oven knobs and kept them in a cabinet.

While hiking one day, she found and ate a neon purple rubber fishing worm lure (not the hook, thank goodness) which she later pooped out, intact, in front of an entire beach full of people and picnickers.

But wait, it gets better because the worm got STUCK coming out. I had to run over with a poop bag and try to pull it from her rear end. But it was rubber, so it kept "giving." It was like a tug-of-war between her butt, the worm, and me.

As I fought the battle, determined to get the worm out, I could hear gasps of horror from all the people sitting on the beach. Children were screaming, "Mom! What is going on with that dog? Why does she have a big purple worm in her butt?"

When Daisy realized what was happening, she tried to run from the stuck worm. I had to chase her down, hold her, and pull it out. Then, I sheepishly walked off the beach with my tail between my legs as the onlookers pretended to look away.

My partner and I cherished her every single day. We knew she was ours for a limited time on this earth, but we never thought the day would come when she would not be with us. We could never even think about that pain. We had just lost Solly two years before. 

Photo credit: Dog River Lodge at Bark Hallow daycare

But last idle Tuesday, just after 4 PM, I walked into a dimly lit exam room where the neurologist pulled up Daisy's MRI scan results and uncomfortably said, "These situations are never easy..."

I knew I was about to be blindsided.

My heart started racing. 

I Facetimed my partner so he could hear the doctor speak as I felt like that bus was bearing down on me. 

The neurologist pulled up a picture from the MRI that showed a giant, evil, monstrous mass eating into her spine. 

I tried not to hyperventilate. 

"It is a tumor," the neurologist said. "I'm so sorry we weren’t expecting that. There are no treatment options. It cannot be removed because of its location in her spinal cord."  

The room started spinning.

"You could try radiation to shrink it, but it won't go away," she continued, trying to sound calm. "That would only buy her a couple of weeks — but Daisy would be in pain."

I started shaking. 

I attempted to hold back tears and the sound of ugly cries but failed miserably. When the staff left the exam room, I nearly threw up in the sink. 

After everything Daisy ate and processed through her steel-lined stomach and all the times we worried about each object she ingested or her bad discs, cancer got her in the end.

My partner and I then made the right but the most heartbreaking decision you ever make as pet parents: we decided to let her go immediately and be free of that pain. We never brought her home. My partner raced to the animal hospital to be with us. We couldn't stand the thought of her suffering. The neurologist told us we made the right choice.

As we drove home without her that evening, I thought I would never feel happiness again. I'd never laugh again. I could not see life beyond the unbearable agony we were in. 

Looking back, I can't believe Daisy hid the pain she must have been in for so long. She had been her cheery, spunky self even the week before. 

I often thought if Daisy could write me an email update from over the Rainbow Bridge, she'd say something like, "Dear Mom, I have my best friend Solly back. We'll make room on the recliner for you one day. Please don't be sad anymore. We have no more pain. Oh! You can eat as much as you want in Heaven and not puke! It's fantastic." 

Megan Saucier, who runs Sandy Trails K9 Adventures, captured the incredible picture of Daisy that headlines this memorial and wrote as a tribute to her: "Daisy was a crazy senior, with the no Fs left to give mentality which always kept us laughing."

As the weeks went on after Daisy died, we began to feel less like zombies. Though for a while, we only laughed when we retold Daisy stories that usually ended in chaos, an emergency room visit, or seeking legal advice. 

When I think of how it all happened, I believe it's better I didn't see this bus coming. Even if we somehow caught Daisy’s bone cancer in her spinal column early, there weren’t great treatment options.

We would have spent the last year crying, upset, and worrying. Instead, we spent that last year trying to make every day with her the best: Swimming, hiking, eating ice cream, and just letting Daisy be Daisy until that last car ride we took together. 

Love you, Daisy. Thank you for being you. You are one in a million!

May we always live like Daisy: Filled with joy, always ready for adventure and mischief, with no Fs to give, even until the very end.

Click here for a video about Daisy and Solly.












Dog Photography Tips for Your Holiday Cards

©Shannon Jayne Photography

The dreaded annual holiday card photo shoot. The stakes are high and the pressure is on. It’s hard enough to get your spouse and kids to clean up, dress up and smile for photos, but your dog, too?

Watchdog Mary interviewed a range of pet picture experts, from dog trainers to photographers, to get the top dog photography tips for her article in Dogster Magazine.

The Truth About Puppy Dog Eyes and What They Do to Us

Photo credit Mert Kaya via Pexels

You know the look — that puppy-dog-eyed glance. Your dog raises his eyebrows, flashes a fretful face and you stop in your tracks.

You’ll do nearly anything to appease him. Treat? Car ride? Steak? Gucci collar? $500 orthopedic bed?

Recent research reveals that our emotional response to those puppy dog eyes is part of an intense bond between humans and dogs that has likely been in the works for tens of thousands of years.

Click here to read the rest of Watchdog Mary’s article in Dogster magazine.

Five Ways You and Your Cat Can Go Green

Photo by Oleksandr Pidvalny

Cat parent Marina Barry is always on the hunt for ways to reduce her kitty, Bootsie’s, carbon pawprint. “We must take care of the Earth,” she says. “I feel like we have to do more.”

Marina and experts say you and your cat can help save the environment — and even money — by taking some simple steps. Here are five pawsitively easy ways to go green.

To read Watchdog Mary’s article in Catster Magazine, click here.

Traveling With Your Dog? Know The Rules Of The Road

Dogster Magazine

Anna Jacoby planned to hit the road with her beloved adopted dog, Jack. But as she plotted her workcation to Denver, Colorado, she put on the brakes. She discovered Jack would face extra scrutiny in The Mile High City because he’s a Pit Bull. The breed is only allowed in Denver if owners pay to have their dogs evaluated and permitted – this also applies to visitors.

To read Watchdog Mary’s “Rules of the Road” article in Dogster Magazine, click here.

(Click here for digital edition.)

Message To All Fathers: Give Your Kids Wings

Mary with her Dad

If I could give all dads one piece of advice: teach your kids to fly. You don’t need to sign them up for pilot lessons, but give them wings.

My father taught me the basics: How to ride a bike, swim, and drive a car. But he didn't stop there. He added AP-level dad lessons, including how to drive a boat, how to play poker (and win), how to throw punches and how to fly.

My father got his pilot's license when I was twelve. One day while we were sky high above the Chicagoland area in a four-seater Cessna, he said through the inflight headphones, "Hold the wheel, Mary. Hold the wheel."

I yelled semi-hysterically, "Of the plane?! We're gonna die!" The commotion was similar to the near-plane crash scene in Almost Famous. (Though being so young, I didn't have any deep, dark secrets to confess.)

He ignored my drama and prompted me again to grab the wheel. I nervously reached out, white-knuckled it and cautiously held on. 

"That's it, Mary,” he said smiling. “You're flying the plane!"

Scared to death, I freaked out! We were tens of thousands of feet above the ground. 

“Noooooo, noooo. Ahhhhhh! You fly the plane! You fly the plane," I yelled. 

I'm sure there was a moment that day up in the clouds when my father pondered how fate gave him, a six-foot-four, guy’s guy type, a worried, petrified, skinny girl as his only child. 

But he remained cool as a cucumber. "You're doing it. You're doing it. It's okay," he said. 

I finally settled down and grew more confident because he clearly had more confidence in me than I had in myself. 

Every weekend when I was growing up, we had adventures like this. It was father-daughter time. (AKA: Some much-needed free time for my mother.) My father would show me a new experience or we’d have an occasional near-death encounter. 

There was the day he brought me stunt flying. Jumping into a two-seater, open cockpit, World War Two-like plane at a young age was an adventure. There were about 10 different safety belts you had to strap over your body. At first, it was an amazing experience. But what I didn’t know was that this plane was going to fly upside down!

I'm not sure how many "Gs" I felt, but I certainly learned about motion sickness. I was literally green when we landed. I have a new respect for fighter pilots (and for the actors in Top Gun.)

When my father and I flew together, and things got bumpy, the wind would try to take us in a certain direction or we'd need to take a sharp turn -- he'd respond to the concern he would see in my face. "Just go with the plane, Mary. Roll with it,” he said.

Things were much smoother as soon as I let go and rolled with it. Little did I know this was sage advice for all things in life, especially when things get rough or you're pushed in an uncomfortable direction. 

And when situations get to a point where you can't just roll with it, he taught me how to fight back. Now things have changed drastically since the 80s on how to deal with conflict, but back then, I vividly remember the day I came home in tears because of a playground bully. 

After listening to my sob story about the mean boy who pushed other kids and me off the swing set, my father brought me to the backyard, away from my mother's ears, and showed me how to throw a punch. He warned me, "Don't tuck your thumb into your fist; you'll break it!" 

The next day, armed and ready with this knowledge but a little nervous, I returned to the swing set. So did the bully. When he continued his antics, I curled my hand into a fist, made sure I didn't tuck my thumb and punched him right in the stomach. I was as shocked as Ralphie in A Christmas Story when he let Scut Farkus have it.

But it worked. The bully crumpled over, ran off, and did not return to the swing set again. I've never hit anyone since, but it taught me not to be afraid of a bully. 

Being the only child of a studly macho guy, I didn't realize it then, but I had big shoes to fill. I was going to learn dude things. I was going to fill the role of daughter and son. 

My father was raised on boats and was in the Coast Guard. So when he got us a boat, it included 5 am fishing trips. Getting up that early was painful, but the bone-chilling cold we endured sitting out there waiting for the fish to bite was the worst.

I could see my breath every time I'd whine that my toes were freezing. Full of fishing enthusiasm, my dad would launch into a demonstration of so-called "toe-ups." 

He would stand on two feet, push his toes into the floor of the boat, and lower his heels up and down. "Do toe-ups, Mary. We did them in the Coast Guard. These will warm you right up.”

Nope. Dad, I have to tell you, those toe-ups never helped. But I learned how to toughen up -- something that's helped me countless times in life.

As much as my father showed me to be strong and take on new challenges, he also taught me so much about being kind and polite to others. This giant-sized guy's guy has a heart of gold. 

During those awful pre-teen years when my girlfriends and I verged on being mean girls, my dad would pick us up from the movies. Once he saw a boy from our neighborhood waiting alone, in the dark, for a ride that didn't seem like it was coming. My father stopped the car and asked us, "Does he need a ride?" 

We all said, "No, Mr. Schwager, no. We don't want to give him a ride! He's geeky!" 

Guess what happened? The geeky boy rode home with us while we snooty girls sat in silence. He taught me never to exclude anyone. It hurts people's feelings. He was so right. Now I'm the one who is constantly making sure everyone is included and feels welcome. 

Speaking of car rides, my father was the best driving instructor. God bless my mother, but she was well, a bit stressed. When she would hop in the car with me the armrest became an “oh sh*t handle” she'd grab for dear life. She also had an imaginary brake she'd stomp on the passenger side floor and yell, "STOP, MARY, STOP!! AHHH!" 

I just want to note that I always planned on stopping.

But my father, perhaps, went and had a drink before getting into the co-pilot seat of the car because he remained calm and collected at all cruising speeds.

He was one of the first to have a mobile phone back then. He must have looked very cool at the time: An 80s big-haired daughter with a triple pierced ear chauffeuring him around while he made business calls on that giant block, hard-wired device. 

One day I did make a pretty lousy driving, ah, let's call it a miscalculation while he was on the phone. Okay, perhaps we were about to get hit by an oncoming car. 

I was utterly panicked about what to do. But he reached over from the passenger side, grabbed the wheel with one hand, and steered us away from a disaster like a stunt man. 

He grumbled, "Dammit, Mary!" And picked up his conversation with a business associate without missing a beat. 

"Sorry, Mary is driving,” he said. “So let's talk about that deal..."

Nothing really flummoxes him. (Oh, except for golf. A demon appears to possess his body on the golf course. He is much like John McEnroe on the green. Yeah, he's smiling in this picture, but about 20 curse words preceded this shot.)

Once I overheard my father talking about me to someone, and after all the years of "challenges" he gave me, I finally understood his motive.

"I'd throw Mary into all these situations," he said. "She was petrified. But I always told her she could do it, and eventually, she would. It gave her a lot of self-confidence."

He was right. All of my successes are because of my two incredible parents. Whenever I've encountered tough times or found myself in a situation that scared, even terrified me, I have often initially relived my childhood panic of, "Nooooooo way! You take the wheel!" 

But the confidence my father and mother instilled in me has helped me calm down, take a deep breath and start flying again. I may not have always been on my planned flight path. Things have definitely gotten bumpy, but I eventually found my wings.

So dads: Be sure to challenge your kids, teach them when to throw punches, to drive straight, how to take the wheel and how to fly.

And Dad, one more thing, thank you for also teaching me that learning how to type well was one of the most important things I could ever learn. I even ended up a writer!

Thank you for everything.





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